


the weight of all those willing words

by strawberry_sky



Category: Dimension 20 (A Crown of Candy), Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Dramatic Irony, Fantasy Catholicism, Gen, oops! all dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24870928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberry_sky/pseuds/strawberry_sky
Summary: Citrina brushes past the knight standing at attention, slams open the door to her second sister’s study, and stalks inside, barely waiting for the door to shut behind her before she says, “Lazuli, please tell me you did not already know where half the monks of the Spinning Star draw their power.”“Ah, my dear sister,” Lazuli says mildly, not looking up from an enormous tome open on the desk in front of her. She gestures to an already-poured, already-hot cup of tea sitting near Citrina’s left hand. “Tea?”
Relationships: Citrina Rocks & Lazuli Rocks
Comments: 20
Kudos: 63





	the weight of all those willing words

**Author's Note:**

> me holding up any cleric npc: I Just Think They're Neat
> 
> this is about 60% character study and 40% religious philosophizing. i'm not sorry

Across the lands of Calorum, Primogen Citrina Rocks is generally accepted to be the most gentle and mild-mannered of the royal siblings of Candia. Tales of General Rococoa’s strength and leadership on the battlefield have travelled far and wide, as have stories of Prince Amethar’s fearsome rage. Princess Sapphria is beloved by the people and the court alike for her witty charisma and bubbly personality, and Archmage Lazuli is generally discussed with either suspicion or faint awe.

But Citrina is different. Citrina, blessed by the Bulb, who has been producing light and healing since she was a baby. Citrina, who has built her reputation on kindness and gentleness and sugar-sweetness. Citrina, who some are already calling “saint” even though she is very much alive. 

Those who frequent Castle Candy, however, know that the Bulb can burn just as effectively as it can warm, and that when Citrina is storming down the hallways with light trailing behind her like a cape, it is best to get out of the way.

Citrina brushes past the knight standing at attention, slams open the door to her second sister’s study, and stalks inside, barely waiting for the door to shut behind her before she says, “Lazuli, _please_ tell me you did not already know where half the monks of the Spinning Star draw their power.” 

“Ah, my dear sister,” Lazuli says mildly, not looking up from an enormous tome open on the desk in front of her. She gestures to an already-poured, already-hot cup of tea sitting near Citrina’s left hand. “Tea?” 

Citrina glares at the offending teacup and briefly considers smiting it with a bolt of radiant light. “So you did know.” 

“Of course I knew.” Lazuli leans back and takes a delicate sip of her own tea. “Knowing is what I do.” 

Citrina takes a deep breath. _Bulb, grant me patience_. “And were you planning on telling me this, at any point?”

“I don’t see that it’s relevant,” says Lazuli, peering at Citrina over her glasses. “The Order of the Spinning Star is not a Bulbian-sanctioned organization. It doesn’t really concern you.” 

Citrina lifts an eyebrow. “A cult of the Hungry One growing within the borders of _my own kingdom_ doesn’t concern me?” 

“Cult seems like a harsh word,” says Lazuli, taking another sip of tea. 

Citrina closes her eyes. _Violence solves nothing. Conflicts, especially those with people you love, are best won through empathy and peaceableness. These are things you believe very firmly._

She picks up the cup of tea and takes an experimental sip. It is prepared exactly how she likes it, of course, and heated to the perfect temperature, as it always is. Somehow this only infuriates her more. “Of all beings in this world to draw power from, why the Hungry One?”

Lazuli shrugs. “I don’t know. I get my power from books. I don’t really involve myself in other peoples’ business.” 

Citrina sets the tea back down and folds her hands together. “Lazuli. I have turned a blind eye to the Sugar Plum Fairy. I have turned a blind eye to all the other spirits and fey and arcane sources of magic in this kingdom, in this castle, in my own family. But the Hungry One crosses a line, and I can’t simply pretend this isn’t happening.” 

Lazuli also sets her own teacup down, very slowly getting to her feet. She’s taller than Citrina, so now Citrina is the one having to look up to meet her sister’s gaze. “What are you suggesting, primogen?” 

Citrina doesn’t back down. “I’m suggesting, _archmage_ , that my role in this kingdom is to protect our people from threats exactly like this.” 

“And _my_ role is to protect our people and our way of life from the overreach of the Bulbian Church, and the Order of the Spinning Star is a crucial part of that.” 

"The Order of the Spinning Star has chosen to ally themselves with a being that represents death and destruction!"

Lazuli narrows her eyes. "So you would leave a strong and effective source of power untapped?"

" _Yes_ , when that source of power does more harm than it does good!"

"The Bulb can be used to do harm as well, we've both seen it!"

"I'm certainly not denying that, but at the heart of it--"

"Oh, come now, you know as well as I do that at the heart of it it's all the same,” Lazuli snaps.

Citrina recoils. She thinks it would have hurt less if Lazuli had actually slapped her. "How dare you?" she hisses. "I am a primogen of the Church--"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't know." Both of Lazuli’s hands are braced on her desk, those blazing blue eyes piercing right into Citrina’s soul. 

Citrina takes a step back, and then another. She draws herself up to her full height, feeling all the light in the room gather around her like a shroud. “Don’t test me, Lazuli,” she says through gritted teeth, and then she spins on her heel and walks out. 

She stalks back to her chambers, barely conscious of where she’s going. _At the heart of it all, it’s all the same. The Bulb, the Hungry One, both mindless, both just sources of power that can be used for good or evil or both or neither. Don’t you know that, Citrina? Don’t you know that, Primogen? Don’t you know that, Saint?_

(Citrina is nine years old with tears in her eyes, asking the primogen why the Bulb won’t answer her questions. _Perhaps you should listen better_ , the primogen suggests.)

Citrina lets her door swing shut behind her, and lets out a long sigh. She crosses to the window and draws the curtains, blocking out the light that was streaming in. Slowly, methodically, she takes the pins out of her hair and sets them on her bedside table, next to the large, leather-bound book that holds so much of her own ink and thoughts and tears. 

(Citrina is fifteen years old and has decided to start writing her prayers in a book, so her thoughts won’t wander. It does not work. They wander anyway, and she is left with no feeling of the Bulb’s presence and no more answers than she had when she started. In frustration, she scribbles all over the bottom half of the page.)

 _Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t know_. 

She and Lazuli had been so close when they were younger. Citrina, blessed by the Bulb, a miracle-worker since she was a toddler, being carefully coddled and trained to use her magic. And Lazuli, with her obvious arcane talents and even more obvious thirst for knowledge, beside her in every step. 

But the older they’ve gotten, and the longer the war has dragged on, the more they’ve grown apart. Lazuli spends most of her time in the castle, working on spells and projects for weeks on end, having secretive meetings about things that Citrina generally does her best to ignore. And Citrina has barely been home since the war started, as she and Sapphria make their circuit through courts and churches, trying to end the war with banquets and sermons while Rococoa and Amethar try to end it with blood. 

There’s a soft knock at Citrina’s door. “Come in,” she sighs, expecting Saph here to remind her of the importance of sacrificing ideals for the sake of unity and peace and to provide words full of far more tact than Citrina can access on her own.

The door swings open, and Lazuli is standing there, empty-handed. “Citrina,” she says. “May I come in?” 

Citrina pauses and momentarily considers striding across the room and slamming the door shut. But as with most of her crueler or harsher impulses, she pushes that down, and instead just nods. 

Lazuli shuts the door behind her. “Citrina,” she says again, and then stops talking, and takes a deep breath. “Citrina, I wanted--” 

“To make sure I’m not going to rat you out to the Bulbian Church?” Citrina suggests, crossing her arms.

“To _apologize_ ,” says Lazuli. 

Citrina uncrosses her arms. She can count the number of times Lazuli has apologized to her on one hand. Someone who has a limited ability to see the future and is quite literally the smartest person in the kingdom tends to believe pretty firmly in her own correctness. And she’s usually right, which only makes it more infuriating. 

“I shouldn’t have thrown the nature of the Bulb in your face like that,” says Lazuli. “Even if it’s true.” 

She looks up at Citrina, as if daring her to argue. Citrina does not. “And?” she prompts instead. 

Now it’s Lazuli’s turn to cross her arms. It’s a humorously petty bit of body language. They’re both grown women, extremely powerful ones at that, yet in each others’ presence it’s like they’re fifteen and seventeen again. “Well, _should_ I have told you about the Spinning Star earlier? Where do your loyalties lie, Primogen Citrina?” 

Citrina knows she could bite back, match Lazuli’s ice with her own fire, drag their whole argument up again. Last year, she might have. But she’s seen too much war lately to fight with her sister. 

So she crosses the room, and takes Lazuli’s hands in hers. "I may be a primogen of the church," she says slowly, "but I am a Candian before that. And I am your sister before that. And I am a servant of the Bulb and what it stands for above all." 

Lazuli’s eyes soften, but she still looks troubled. For a second she looks like she’s going to say something else, but then then her gaze slides to something behind Citrina, and she frowns.

Citrina tips her head. “What?” 

Lazuli is looking at the table next to her bed. “What is that?” 

Citrina glances over her shoulder. “It’s...my book? My prayer book? The one I compiled with all the teachings we have about the Bulb and my notes on it? You’ve seen me writing in it before. You’ve _helped_ me write in it.” 

“Yes, but, since when has it been a magical item?” 

“ _What_?” Citrina drops Lazuli’s hands and looks back at her book. It looks the same as it always has: a simple leather cover with her initials, and inside, pages and pages of notes she’s taken on other Bulbian literature, transcriptions of her favorite passages, prayers that she’d written out because she didn’t want to forget them. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s magic,” says Lazuli, crossing over to the bedside table and carefully studying the book through her glasses. “Sometime since you left, it’s become a magical item. You’re telling me you didn’t do this on purpose?” 

“No,” says Citrina, very slowly reaching out her hand and laying it on the book’s cover. “I just...did what I’ve always done.” 

Lazuli murmurs a few arcane words and waves her hand, then looks up at Citrina with her eyebrows raised. “Well, I don’t need to waste time on doubting the veracity of that statement. As long as someone is touching this book, they can’t lie.” 

“Really?” 

“Your hand is on it right now, go ahead, try.” 

Citrina looks back down at the book. “I don’t draw my power from the Bulb,” she says, or--this is what she _tries_ to say, but the word “don’t” sticks in her mouth like overly-thickened taffy. “I don’t--” she tries again. Still nothing. “I draw my power from the Bulb,” she says finally, and she looks up at Lazuli. “It works. I can’t lie.” 

Lazuli lets out a low whistle.

Citrina sinks down on the bed, still clutching the book in her hands. “Bulb above. I really did make a relic. By _accident_.” 

“This is powerful,” marvels Lazuli, starting to pace.

“This is dangerous,” murmurs Citrina.

“We could use this,” they both say at the same time. 

“I could take it to Comida--” 

“Get Brassica to put her hand on it, ask her _just_ the right question--” 

“Or even in a more official capacity, during negotiations, if we had people put their hands on the book--” 

“We could end the war.”

Citrina looks at her sister. Lazuli looks back. 

Lazuli lets out a long, slow breath and sinks down on the bed next to Citrina. “You’ll have to be very careful.” 

“I know,” says Citrina with a slight smile. “You are not the only one protecting this family and this kingdom from the Bulbian Church, Laz.” 

Lazuli does not return her smile. “Brassica is dangerous. The truth is a threat to people like her.” 

“I _know_ ,” says Citrina again, more seriously. She runs her hand lightly along the cover of the book. “I think that’s why I’ve always sought it out.” 

They sit there in silence for a moment in the dark room, both of them slowly turning truths over in their mind.

“How long have you known about the Bulb?” Lazuli asks quietly.

Citrina doesn’t answer right away. 

(Citrina is twenty-seven years old, standing in a beam of light in the chapel with her fists clenched at her sides. _Why won’t you answer me?_ she asks the Bulb for the millionth time. But this time, even as she asks it, she realizes she already knows the answer.) 

“I’ve known for years,” she says finally. “I’m not sure exactly how long. It came slowly. A gradual understanding, and then an irrefutable certainty. Like a sunrise.” 

Lazuli furrows her brow. “No evidence? No last straw of proof?” 

Citrina shrugs. “No. I mean, I looked at evidence, at writings of people who’d come before me, but then in the end I just...knew. Like those optical illusions that Saph is so fond of. My vision shifted, and I could see things how they really were, and then I couldn’t unsee it.” 

“But you haven’t said anything.” 

Citrina shakes her head. 

“Why not?” 

Another question that Citrina has to consider carefully before she answers. Lazuli has always been so good at those. “I have met... _so_ many people, who need the Bulb. Who need to believe that the Bulb cares about them, is listening to them. Who am I to take that away?” 

“You’re not taking anything away,” says Lazuli, sounding a little frustrated. “It doesn’t exist in the first place. No one _does_ care about them.”

“ _I_ do,” says Citrina. She does care. She cares so much, about every single person who has ever listened to her speak or come to her for healing. How could she start telling them that their god isn’t listening to them?

“You’re lying to them. How is that caring?” 

“Because I wouldn’t lie to them if they _asked_ me. The truth is there for anyone who actually wants to find it. It’s in here, actually.” She holds up the book. “Maybe not in so many words, but the thought patterns that led me to that conclusion are all here. Anyone who read it would realize the same thing. Anyone who tries, really _tries,_ to get to _know_ the Bulb will learn the same thing.” 

“But you could help them!” Lazuli has gone from frustrated to excited. She stands up, and starts pacing again. “You could guide them to the truth, and then let them make their own decision!” 

“No, I can’t,” Citrina reminds Lazuli gently. “Because there’s a _war_.” 

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Lazuli looks slightly embarrassed. It’s not the first time that she’s gotten so caught up in her beautiful big-picture dream of a better world that she’s forgotten about the real one. Citrina’s prone to doing the same thing--or at least, she used to be. And Lazuli used to do it more often, too. 

Lazuli sinks back down on the bed next to Citrina. For a moment they sit in silence.

“But maybe after,” says Citrina, slowly. She feels Lazuli look at her, but she keeps her eyes focused on the book in her lap. None of them have really been talking in terms of “after.” It feels like jinxing it. “Maybe I can use this book. Maybe I can make my own church, one that knows the truth and talks about it and doesn’t let corruption grow in the shadows. One that knows that we define what the Bulb means, and that it’s merely one power source among many. Maybe you can help me.” 

Now it’s Lazuli’s turn to not meet her sister's eyes. “Maybe,” she says softly. 

They lapse into silence again. Citrina is insightful enough to hear just how much Lazuli is not saying. It terrifies her. 

“How did it feel?” Lazuli asks suddenly. “When you realized the Bulb was mindless. Did it upset you?”

Citrina raises her eyebrows. She can’t remember Laz ever asking how someone _felt_ about something. Lady Carmelinda must be softening her. “Honestly? It was kind of a relief. To know...to know that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d thought maybe I wasn’t listening in the right way, or that the Bulb was...I don’t know, mad at me, or something. But to look up at the light and to realize that the reason no one is answering you has nothing to do with any failure on your part...it made everything make sense. The weirdest part, the part that kept me from realizing it sooner, was that I’ve always been _chosen_. ‘Blessed’ by the Bulb. Able to use magic since I was a baby. How can I be chosen by something without a mind?” 

“Yes,” says Lazuli. “Yes, I wondered that too. I haven’t really come up with a satisfactory hypothesis.” 

“Well, I did,” says Citrina. She lifts up her hand, holding in front of both of them, and casts _Light_ on the ring on her finger. “The Bulb didn’t choose me. I chose it. Even as a baby, I looked up at the light in the sky and _knew_ that I could use it to make people feel better when they get hurt.” 

“That sounds like a miracle to me,” says Lazuli.

For some reason, there is suddenly a lump in Citrina’s throat. She leans her head against her sister’s shoulder. 

“Please be careful with the Spinning Star,” she says. “The power of the Hungry One may be neutral, but the concept of the Hungry One is about destruction. That _means_ something about the people who choose to follow it.” 

“Then you be careful with the Bulbian Church,” says Lazuli. “I trust a bunch of monks who _told_ me they draw their power from death far more than I trust Belizabeth Brassica’s professions of piety.” 

Lazuli leaves a few minutes later, with a kiss on Citrina’s cheek and a promise that she won’t forget to eat dinner. When she’s gone, Citrina opens the curtains again and stands at the window, looking out over the courtyard of Castle Candy. The Tartguard are drilling, with far more focus and dedication than Citrina remembers from when she was a child. Sapphria is engaged in quiet conversation with Carmelinda, Calroy Cruller, and a few other nobles. Beyond the walls, the sugargrass fields look pink in the late afternoon light. 

Citrina lets the light wash over her skin. She closes her eyes and breathes it into her lungs.

 _End this war,_ she prays. _Keep my family safe._

She knows there’s no one listening. 

But she says it anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from "The Wrote And The Writ" by Johnny Flynn, which is THE Citrina Rocks song. see also "Wasteland" by NEEDTOBREATHE and "Trees" by Twenty One Pilots
> 
> come talk to me about clerics and sisters at drinkingdeadpeopletea.tumblr.com


End file.
